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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709660">Heaven's Light Casts But The Darkest Shadow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars'>Buckets_Of_Stars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ineffable Instincts [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Crowley (Good Omens), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angelic Lore, Angry Crowley (Good Omens), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Humanity (Good Omens), Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Complete, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crying Aziraphale (Good Omens), Discorporated Aziraphale (Good Omens), Discorporation (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Feral Aziraphale (Good Omens), Feral Behavior, Feral Crowley (Good Omens), Happy Ending, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mean Archangels (Good Omens), Modern Era, Omega Aziraphale (Good Omens), One Shot, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Panic Attacks, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Sad with a Happy Ending, Scared Aziraphale (Good Omens), Scene Rewrite, Scenting, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), The Author Regrets Nothing, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Whump, Wolf Instincts, omega instincts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:47:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709660</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale wanted more than anything to go with Crowley. All the Omega Instincts in his entire mortal body screamed at him, to leave Earth and the humans behind, to take off into the stars with his mate so they could both be safe.</p><p>Aziraphale can't do that, however, not when he knows in his heart that he can stop this war; this madness that's seemed to turn the whole planet inside-out. The guilt would eat him alive if he did. </p><p>Too bad the remorse isn't the only thing capable of discorporating the angel.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Angels (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ineffable Instincts [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515203</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>200</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Heaven's Light Casts But The Darkest Shadow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I hope you guys enjoy this one! :D It was a lot of fun to write and quite a challenge to get it to match up and tie into not only the canon show, but the already established Universe as well, but I think it turned out pretty good! Please let me know what you think and which scene you would like to see next! &lt;3</p><p>Ps. This story is technically happening at the same time as the one before it ("Through The Fire And Powder") which basically explains what happened in the Bookshop Fire Scene, but in Crowley's POV. It would be highly recommended to read that one if you haven't done so already to avoid any confusion.</p><p>Disclaimer: I do not own Good Omens or any related materials.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>--William Shakespeare “Hamlet” (Act II, Scene II)</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I’ll be alright, dove, don’t you worry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s standing on the open door of the Bentley, his eyes blazing even through his sunglasses, his hair wild, a mess, disheveled like he’s spent the last 30 minutes running his hands through it. His scent is hot, spilling out around him like smoke from a raging fire, curling upwards toward Aziraphale and the Omega bites his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was once standing in-front of Aziraphale, however, his warmth and his scent surrounding the angel like it has done for the last 6,000 years. It’s as familiar as his own mortal body, as soothing as the first cup of hot chocolate. Aziraphale’s own scent is sharp and bitter in comparison and he grimaces.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Crowley was begging, something he hasn’t had to do since their meeting atop the Eden Wall, since Aziraphale had first shoved him away because of a different type of fear, all those many years ago. “We need to go now, baby, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I only need to talk to-to the right people.” Aziraphale responded only a few minutes earlier, trying in vain to sound confident, to ignore the low growl of displeasure his Alpha had let out. “I can fix this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truely, Aziraphale doesn’t know what he’s going to do. He knows he can call upstairs, can contact the Almighty. Maybe with a few choice words, by some miracle of a persuasion, Aziraphale can convince God to call this whole thing bluff, push this aside as a crazy conspiracy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s an angel, after all, he’s good at miracles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then everything will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p><span>“</span><span>Sir--</span> <em><span>Crowley</span></em><span>, I-I can.</span><span>”</span></p><p>
  <span>Crowley doesn’t push back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t force--never forces Aziraphale to do anything that the Omega doesn’t want to do and some small part of Aziraphale wishes that he would. He wishes that his husband would snarl in dominance, in an Alpha rage; that he would fold his warm hand across the Mating Mark on the back of the blonde’s neck, and press down until Aziraphale finally allows himself to submit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of Aziraphale wants that more than anything he’s ever allowed himself to want in a long time, but he also knows he would never be able to live with the guilt if he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley leaves then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale watches as he storms off toward the parked Bentley, a low snarl curling his lips, his eyebrows knit in a tense line across his forehead. Each step away from Aziraphale causes the blonde to fight down a whine, to tremble with the need for his Alpha to turn around, to come back and protect him, to be by his side because Aziraphale has never been this terrified and uncertain before in all of his lifetimes on this blasted planet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Hell’s coming for Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mix up with the Antichrist. The last 11 years wasted by a fool’s mistake, at least to them. Which means that Heaven won’t be far behind for </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Aziraphale cannot risk them going anywhere near his mate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though the need for his Alpha nearly rips Aziraphale in half. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s final shouted words ring in the Omega’s ears well after the demon had sped away. </span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll be alright, dove, don’t you worry. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale trusts Crowley, trusts him with his own life and his heart and everything in-between and he knows deep down that his Alpha </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> be alright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because if he isn’t, Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to survive and the angel knows that Crowley would never allow that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That doesn’t still the anxiety eating away at his insides, however. Aziraphale frets as he walks, head down, eyes staring blankly at the rain-soaked concrete, scooting around humans as they innocently go along with their day, none the wiser. His chest aches with the long, low, nearly inaudible whine that bubbles up, no matter how hard the Omega attempts to push it down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s just as he crosses in-front of the local coffee shop that the Archangels surround him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Aziraphale.” Michael says, her smile thin, hands icy as she reaches over, gripping the labels of the blonde’s coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Aziraphale gasps, miracling away any leftover trace of his husband’s scent with a quick snap, so fast he nearly becomes dizzy. “Michael. And-And Uriel, Sandalphon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two other mentioned angels come around Aziraphale’s othersides, ranking the blonde in a semicircle. Aziraphale forces a smile, feeling the tightening in his chest grow as they all push him backwards, into the entrance to a small alleyway near the corner of the coffee shop. It’s finally when his back brushes against the wall that Aziraphale forces them to come to staging halt, Uriel in front of him now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-Hello, um, what can-can I do for you--?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve been hearing some, well, disturbing assumptions about you, dear Aziraphale.” Michael says, now on the Omega’s left side. Her gaze is a cold blue. “You’ve seemed to have forgotten your loyalties, haven’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale shakes his head, fear-scent permeating the air around them and the Alpha angel smirks, taking a step closer. Aziraphale shivers. “Uh, no, of-of course not. I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uriel’s voice is smooth, their dark eyes flickering between Aziraphale’s face and neck. The Omega’s cheeks burn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Consorting with the enemy is a very punishable offense, </span>
  <span>Principality</span>
  <span>. Don’t expect that sunglasses wearing fool of an Alpha to give you special treatment in Hell. He’s gotten into some trouble too and it’s not just because we can smell his stink all over you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale freezes, his forced polite smile melting into a gasp of pure fear. His eyes widen and he knows that he could lie, could perhaps even convince the other angels that maybe they’re mistaken, that maybe they have the wrong idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I-I don’t, I mean- you can’t possibly understand just what-what my intentions were--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael cuts off his rambling, however, one hand held up and Aziraphale flinches despite himself, nearly knocking his head against the wall behind him. The Alpha angel pauses herself, a twinkle of delight shining in her eyes for a split second before they’re dulled again, shimmering in a flashy show of betrayal and hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s time to choose sides.” Aziraphale shakes his head despite himself, blinking back tears. “Aziraphale, you’ve--you think too much, that’s always been your problem, hasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-No--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, yes.” Uriel mocks, reaching out and carefully laying their hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, fingers barely brushing against the Omega’s neck and Aziraphale jerks away. “But you’ve already made your choice, haven’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale swallows, the other angels catching onto his fear, picking it up in his scent like bloodhounds sent to chase some poor rabbit down a hole and they step, as one, even closer. “We should really--I mean, it would be a good idea if we left the-the choices up to them, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all stare at him, faces blank. Sandalphon’s gold teeth flash in the light as the shorter Omega grimaces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a-a silly human thing, after all.” Aziraphale continues, not even sure if he’s making sense anymore. “The need for choices, to make them. We should really j-just step back, you know, put this whole, um, </span>
  <em>
    <span>war</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing behind us, yes? We shouldn't trouble ourselves with making the-the decisions for them--the humans, I mean, about what should be considered good and evil--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uriel cuts him off. “Like we said: You think too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale barely has time to blink before Sandelphon is swooping down, punching the blonde in the stomach so hard that he doubles over, a sharp cry of pain and shock ripping through his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crowley</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His Omega mind thinks immediately, rational thought abandoned for a second, ears ringing as the ground blurs below him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Need Crowley. Need Alpha. Need. Needneedneedneed-- </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He's ripped away from these Instincts by Uriel’s hands on his coat again, hauling the still gasping </span>
  <span>Principality up and against the wall. Aziraphale’s head smacks hard against the dark stone, his entire body trembling now, fear-scent stinking of so much distress and panic that he’s almost surprised Crowley can’t smell it from miles away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You-You--” He struggles to speak around the whine that wants more than anything to spill out of him. His Instincts claw at his chest and he nearly chokes. “You can’t do this, w-why are you doing this?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uriel only watches him, their eyes narrowed, lips curling in a snarl. Their scent, along with the others around him, are almost pleased, humming with something Aziraphale could almost describe as excitement if not for the circumstances. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re the good guys.” Aziraphale continues, eyes darting frantically between the three Archangels, trying to find even an ounce of remorse behind any of their stoic faces. “I have to-to inform you--warn you, I’ll have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>warn</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, that if you proceed with such unprofessional handlings, I’ll--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll what?” Michael laughs, a short, fake sound. “Take this upstairs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale swallows, nodding. “Yes! Yes, I’ll speak to a-a higher authority.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uriel jerks him, and Aziraphale is forced to meet their gaze again. They lean in closer, nostrils flaring and they growl. Aziraphale sees a brief flash of fang, something so unexpected that the blonde isn’t even sure he saw it at all. He quivers slightly under the other Omega angel’s furious glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really think that </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all entities will take your call?” Uriel smirks. “You’re pathetic.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Aziraphale has a chance to respond, however, a horn sounds off in the distance, so low that Aziraphale can barely hear it. Uriel, after one last shove, releases him, all three of the Archangels stepping back as one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s starting.” Sandalphon says, the first words he’s spoken. His grin is sharp. “Better hurry up, Aziraphale.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then they are gone, a burst of white light flinging them back into the sky and up to Heaven and Aziraphale steps away from the wall, his head aching. He glances up, watching as the holy summoning ends, the clouds closing again and sending the Earth back to its gray overcast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-You--” Aziraphale chokes, the tears that he’s tried so hard to hold back now breaking free, tailing down his pale cheeks and he trembles harder. The ghost of Michael’s hands on his shoulder, Uriel’s fingers digging into his jacket causes the Omega to sob, once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You bad angels!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he gets as a response is a low rumble of thunder and Aziraphale trembles along with it.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Making his way back to his bookshop, Aziraphale quickly shuts the door, locking it behind him and closing the blinds. His own heartbeat is loud in his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The warmth and smell of home, the distant scent of his Alpha, does absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to ease the terror and panic coursing through Aziraphale’s veins. His bottom lip is nearly bleeding from the force of his anxiety, having to bite down in order to not give in to his Instincts, to not sink down to his knees in the middle of his shop, give up all Normal reasoning and howl with the need for Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t, however. He needs to speak to the Almighty and he can’t do that if he’s crying for his Alpha. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bracing himself, Aziraphale makes quick work of removing the carpet at the center of the shop, lighting all the candles around the Summoning Circle with shaking fingers. Finally, he straightens up, bringing his hands up to his chest in the universal gesture of prayer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, Uh--” He starts, closing his eyes and clearing his throat. “Hello. This is the Principality Aziraphale. I need to speak to-to the Almighty. It’s extremely urgent.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A light fills the room, so bright it’s visible behind Aziraphale’s eyelids and he blinks, watching as the circles glows. Slowly, a man appears in the light. His face is gigantic, blue eyes wide and Aziraphale can’t stop himself from stumbling backwards in shock, just a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I--” Azirphale swallows, throat dry. “Am I speaking to God?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man frowns. “No, Aziraphale, I am Metatron, representative of the Almighty. You speak to me, you are speaking directly to Her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde frowns. “Oh, yes, well--I-I need to report some, some very inappropriate business negotiations done by a few Archangels. But, uh, the more important thing is that I know how to stop this all, stop this war.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Metatron hums, form shimmering. “And why would we care about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale freezes, scent filling with more anxiety and the Omega is suddenly grateful that the other angel can’t smell it. “Because I-I know where the Antichrist is, I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span> he is. We don’t need to fight, to destroy this world. We can save </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale feels light for the first time in a while because yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span> he is doing the right thing. He can stop all of this and then they can go back to normal and he can go back to Crowley and everything will be okay again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It has to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good work.” Metatron says and Aziraphale is nearly dizzy with relief. The man’s next words, however, causes the blonde’s heart to drop. “Avoiding the war, however, is not our intention. We will win, Aziraphale and we need you to come up to fight in it as soon as possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Aziraphale swallows, his hands shaking as he tugs at his coat. He looks toward his left, where his telephone sits. “In just a-a jiffy, yes. Two shakes of a lamb's tail, um--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will leave the gateway open for you. Don’t take long, Aziraphale, Heaven needs you. Goodday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale nods but before he can respond back with more false reassurances of his loyalty, the Metatron fades from existence, the only remainder of his presence being a slight glow to the circle below. Aziraphale wastes no time in springing toward the phone, dialing his Alpha’s number in a few breathless seconds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s when it goes to voicemail that Aziraphale finally allows himself to whine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, <em>please</em>--” He mutters as he dials again, feeling his hope soar when the line gets picked up with a small click. “I know where the real Antichrist is--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not now--” Crowley’s voice is harsh, harsher than it’s even been when he speaks to Aziraphale and the blonde flinches, subconsciously tilting his head to the side in submission, even when he knows that his husband can’t see him. “Got a friend here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale tries again, desperately. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Alpha--</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line goes dead and the Omega sobs, knees nearly buckling underneath him. Tears trail down his cheeks and Aziraphale wipes them away more harshly than intended, both angry at the circumstance and at himself, for being so bloody foolish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s just about to pick up the phone and try again when a yell from the front of his store causes him to jump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Demon!” Sargent Shadwell screams, one wrinkled finger held up as he steps further into the shop, almost right along the edge of the still glowing floor. The Alpha human’s scent is sharp, spilling around him and Aziraphale nearly gags. “Doing your evil rituals, seducing Omegas with your fancy tricks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What--?” Aziraphale would laugh if not for the fear. “Mr. Shadwell, I think you’ve got the wrong shop. Now, please, stay away from the circle--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Silence, you monster!” Shadwell says, taking out what appears to be a cross and throwing it in Aziraphale’s direction, chanting what the angel can only describe as madened gibberish all the while. “Possessed devil!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes yes, you can continue with your foolish bloody ritual, just please don’t step into the--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Aziraphale jerks forward, placing himself in-front of the man just as Shadwell is about to step closer. The Alpha bares his teeth, reaching into his pocket with his free hand and banishing a lighter, the end of the metal glowing in faint orange. He waves it in Aziraphale’s face and the Omega has no choice but to step back, away from the small flame, his nerves now so high-strung he feels as if he might scream in frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay away from the circle, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span> man!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shadwell opens his mouth, most likely to shout more gibberish, pointing toward Aziraphale with one finger, but a sudden bright light cuts him off. Aziraphale risks glancing away from the human for a second, looking down at his feet. The sight of the glowing chalk right underneath him causes the blonde to gasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, <em>fuck</em>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Aziraphale is zipping upwards into the sky, toward Heaven, with Shadwell staring up at him in all of the terror the 60-year-old Sargent can muster. </span>
</p><p>The world goes white.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale gasps as he lands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room is bright, much brighter than his bookshop and the Omega squints, trying in vain to keep steady. He’s clearly in Heaven, the familiar metallic and sterile scent causing his stomach to churn. His coat is gone too, his beloved jacket that he’s had for the last 200 years.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gone.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Replaced with a harsh white suit that Aziraphale can barely stand to look at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows, breathing in deeply, trying to pin-point his Alpha’s scent, to find a way to calm down because he feels like he’s going to go Feral; truly fall to his knees in Heaven and cry down to Earth for his mate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sniffs, desperate to scent his Alpha, the small trace of Crowley that Aziraphale always has with him, but finds that the last of it is gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. No, no, no. Please. Please please.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale tries again, sucking as much air as possible, nearly dizzy. He whines high, raising a hand to press along the back of his neck, to feel the small pricks of his Alpha’s Mark. The extra pressure must have done something because finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aziraphale is able to get a small whiff of the familiar smokey scent and that’s enough to calm his racing heart, at least a little bit, for now. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Home. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” A sudden angry voice shouts somewhere to the blonde’s left and Aziraphale jerks, finally turning around after a few breathless seconds of lagging. “You’re late!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” The Omega limps in the direction of the speaker, a sharp pain from his clumsy landing causing his leg to ache. “Oh, yes well, actually you see, I-I had not intended to step into the circle quite yet, good fellow. I was still attending to a few important errands down below. How can I, uh, can I get back?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Quartermaster angel’s eyes narrow as Aziraphale comes to a stop in-front of his table. “Go back? Principality Aziraphale, you are needed here. Now, you should have your Flaming Sword, I’m presuming? Right, yes. Here is your uniform. You--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, the-the Flaming Sword, yes--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, the Alpha angel’s brows furrow and he leans forward, his scent sharp. “You were issued a body. It was 6,000-years-old. Where is it, Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Glancing down at his trembling hand, the Omega watches as his mortal flesh shimmers, going transparent for a split second before coming together again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been discorperated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale swallows down his millionth whimper, vaguely listening as the other angel shrugs, continuing with his speech of loyalty without a care in the world. The room around him is too bright, too white, and Aziraphale finds his eyes drawn to the spinning globe in the corner, the specks of blue and green a welcomed relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs to leave. He needs to go home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs Crowley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale steps back just as the other angel hands him a stack of clothes, the apparent uniform falling unceremoniously to the impeccable floor. Both Aziraphale and the Quartermaster stare at the pile, Aziraphale in frustration and the older angel in shock and rising anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You--” The Quartermaster growls, coming around the table and getting into Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale lets out a small warning growl of his own but the Alpha doesn’t seem to notice. “You come here, late for armageddon, without a bloody fucking body, you patheitc, weak excuse for an angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, uh, yes, I suppose that I am.” Aziraphale finally says, backing away from the Alpha angel and making his way over to the Earth, shivering as the Quartermaster’s icy blue stare burns into his back. “I demand to be returned. I was doing something incredibly important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Without a body? Angels can’t possess human bodies, you bloody idiot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aziraphale thinks, ignoring the scoff the other angel lets out behind him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But demons can. And luckily my Alpha happens to be the best one of them all. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale carefully comes around Earth’s otherside, watching as puffy clouds float above Asia, casting the mountains below in specks of shadow. Reaching out, the Omega shivers as his finger gently grazes the top of the planet’s atmosphere, hearing the Quartermaster bark a warning behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do I--” Aziraphale starts to ask, briefly glancing over his shoulder before his hand finally hovers somewhere close to London.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crowley.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The pull of his Alpha is strong, stronger than it’s been in what feels like a long, </span>
  <em>
    <span>long</span>
  </em>
  <span> time and the blonde’s knees nearly give out beneath him as the world blurs. It takes Aziraphale a second to realize that it’s not just his Instincts sucking him in but the Earth itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The white light surrounds him, and he’s shooting across the sky in a long beam of light, flying through the clouds. A crash of thunder sounds, booming through Aziraphale, vibrating his very essence and he’s vaguely reminded of the first storm on the Wall, when the air was just as new as the love it had carried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he’s sitting in a pub, the storm now raging outside the door behind him. He barely has time to glance around at the humans meangering at the tables before a familiar voice, choked with tears and delighted surprise speaks up and Aziraphale sobs with relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s voice, his smokey scent, his love and warmth surrounds the Omega and finally does Aziraphale allow himself to breathe. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Kudos make my day and comments fuel my writing! ;D</p></blockquote></div></div>
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